


Snowmen

by SerpentineJ



Series: Olicolm: 25 Days of OTP [8]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Olicolm, short one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2742260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>8.	Making snowmen. Olicolm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowmen

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I’ve churned this one out. I think we’re back to the established relationship fluff.

**8\. Making snowmen.**

“Malc!” Ollie shouts, looking like an overeager puppy. “Malc, the snow is sticking!”

Malcolm emerges from his office, scratching his head, and says, frowning, “What? Snow at Christmastime… in London?”

“I know!”

~~~~~~

A few hours later the wind is howling outside, a white blur obscuring the windows and the chill of winter seeping into the bones of the house, shilling the floorboards and making the beams creak.

Malcolm and Ollie are sat beside each other on the couch, the fire lit and a plate of biscuits on the side table. 

“Hey, Malc.” Reeder looks at him, frowning. “Where did you grow up? Did you make snowmen?”

Tucker raises an eyebrow down at him. “Snowmen? Sometimes.”

“What kind?”

He exhales, shifting and sinking further into the couch. “Well, Amy and I would make wee ones in the yard behind our house.”

There’s a silence, broken only by the pop and crackle of the fire, until Ollie speaks up again. “D’you wanna make some?”

“Snowmen?”

“Yeah!” He sits up and tugs at Malcolm’s shirt sleeve. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

~~~~~~

The wind has died down and the road is covered in a pristine sheet of snow, glittering white even under the dreary London sky, and Reeder is grinning uncontrollably. 

~~~~~~

They’ve been working in moderate silence for a minute now, Ollie collecting sticks and twigs and Malcolm rolling snowballs, tracking them through the small lawn until they are as   
big as Nicola Murray’s ego.

“Malc!” Reeder shouts, dumping his armful of wood on the ground. “Bring a couple of those over here.”

Tucker rolls his eyes and the snowballs, shifting them with his gloved hands and spindly arms. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“Shut it.” Ollie snickers and hefts a medium-sized one, depositing it delicately on top of a larger snowball. “Hand me that small one.”

He does.

~~~~~~

“What the-“ Malcolm looks up from his snow-sculpting (he’s trying to fashion a giant middle finger to adorn his front yard, covered with lights, and to photograph and paste in his Christmas cards). 

Ollie is doubled over laughing, resting his hands on his knees and absolutely crying with mirth. “It’s- it’s you.” He chokes before dissolving into another laughing fit. 

The snowman is skinny and tall, with a long, beaky carrot for a nose, twigs slashed above the rock eyes as frowny eyebrows. He’s found some bent sticks and has arranges them so it looks like the snowman has crossed its arms.

“Jesus Christ.” But his voice is warm and affectionate as he watches Ollie giggling gleefully.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: Augh, I’m knackered. BUT, tomorrow is the ugly Christmas jumpers fic day! So there’s that.


End file.
